Red Hot Rival

by Cat Carmine

  As promised, I’m back about three hours later. I walk into the house and am immediately greeted with the smell of ...

  “Did you make bread?” I ask, wandering into the kitchen and find Bree sitting at the kitchen table flipping through an interior design magazine.

  “I did!” She gets up and grabs a little loaf pan from the top of the stove. She proudly displays the crusty brown bread inside.

  “I had no idea you could make bread.”

  She grins. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure I can. I have a funny feeling it might still be raw inside.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious, even if it’s a little doughy.”

  “Did you get your errand done?” she asks, setting the loaf pan back down on the counter.

  “I did. Want to come see?”

  “Sure.”

  She follows me out of the kitchen and into the living room, where I left all the stuff. The box was too big to fit into a bag so it’s on full display as soon as she steps into the room.

  “Luke!” Bree squeals as soon as she sees it. “What is this?”

  “I thought that was obvious,” I say, nudging the Brother sewing machine box with the toe of my boot. “I hope this model is okay.”

  “It’s perfect!” She drops to her knees to inspect the box, looking like a little kid at Christmas. “How did you know?”

  “I called one of our upholstery suppliers,” I admit. “I asked them what kind of sewing machine they’d recommend for someone who made dresses. They weren’t exactly happy about me calling them on a Saturday, but this is the one they recommended. It doesn’t have all the bells and whistles, but I think it should have most of —”

  “It’s perfect,” she says. She stares wistfully down at the box. “I just wish I had all my fabric and stuff here.”

  “Look in the bag,” I say, suddenly glad I anticipated this.

  Her eyes light up as she paws through the paper carrier bags. She pulls out a swath of soft cornflower blue fabric.

  “Now, this part I really wasn’t sure about,” I say. “Upholstery fabric, I know. Dress fabric, not so much. I asked the woman at the shop what you would use for a dress and she pointed me to this whole wall of fabric. I eventually just picked this one because I thought it would look nice with your hair.”

  Bree is fighting back a smile, and I shove my hands into my pockets. “There’s thread and stuff too in there. Everything the woman at the shop said you would need. I didn’t know if you’d need a pattern or not — I figured not, but I got one just to be safe.”

  She reaches in and pulls out the McCall’s pattern, fighting back a laugh. It’s for a very 70s-style mini dress.

  “Interesting choice,” she teases.

  “Hey, I just picked something I thought you’d look hot in.”

  “I love it, Luke.” She stands up again and throws her arms around my shoulders. Her kiss is soft and sweet and warm and for a minute I think about scrapping my plans to head to the workshop and just taking her back to bed instead. But then she pulls away.

  “Where can I set it up?” she asks eagerly.

  I chuckle, reluctantly letting her go.

  “I was thinking in the workshop. I actually have a section that I’d walled off for an office, but I never really use it. It’s sealed though, and it has a door and decent soundproofing — so it shouldn’t be too loud or too saw-dusty.”

  “You don’t mind me being in your workshop? Your man space?”

  “Of course not.”

  But as we lug the stuff outside, I think about her question.

  I had thought about where to put the sewing machine the whole time I had been out running the errands. I have many empty rooms in the house that I could get her set up in, but somehow it felt right to have her out in the workshop with me. Maybe it was her comment about how she felt at home where ever her sewing machine was.

  I’m making room for her in my life, in a way I never have — or have even wanted to do — before. There’s just something special about Bree, a way that she just seems to fit. And I want her to feel at home here. With me.

  In the back of my mind, I know it’s stupid. Dangerous, even. We still shouldn’t be together, at least not until Loft & Barn’s initial public offering is over and Bree’s found some equilibrium in her own job. But every time I look at her, it seems like all my sensible thoughts go flying out the window. Even Tomas walking in on us a couple of weeks ago hasn’t really put a damper on things — it’s only driven us deeper into seclusion, hiding out at my house like a couple of teenagers whose parents were dumb enough to go on vacation and leave them alone.

  And somehow, deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time before all of this blows up in our faces.

  “What are you thinking about?” Bree asks, as I set her new sewing machine down on the wide table in my never-used office.

  I force myself to smile.

  “Just thinking about how hot you’re going to look in a blue mini-dress.”

  23

  Bree

  The phone rings and rings and rings, before it finally clicks over to voicemail.

  “Hello, you’ve reached the private and confidential voicemail of Rich Howe, Vice President of Bailey Living...”

  I hang up before I hear anymore. It’s the tenth time I’ve got his voicemail today, and I could recite it by heart at this point.

  I tap my fingers on my desk in irritation. Rich has been so hot and cold lately — the other day he was so helpful in getting me through all that paperwork, but ever since then getting ahold of him has been like trying to catch a mouse in a field.

  Or maybe a rat, I think bitterly. I quickly push the thought out of my mind. I have no reason to be suspicious — I’m sure he’s just busy.

  I pick the phone back up and try Sasha, but her phone just rings too. I drop the handset down and sigh loudly, even though there’s no one around to hear me.

  Bailey Living has an entire floor of offices, and for some reason, Rich’s office is way at the other side of the building. I’m not sure why Dad kept him so far away, but maybe that’s normal for these kinds of offices. I’m so used to working right next to Margaux — literally, I can back my chair up and run right into her — that I find this whole configuration odd.

  I slip my feet back into my heels. I’ll just take a little stroll down that way and see if anyone is around. Maybe someone else knows if Rich is out. Geetika has a dentist appointment this afternoon, otherwise I’d just get her to keep trying Rich for me.

  I make my way through the office, saying hello to a few people whose names I haven’t yet been able to remember, and then come around the corner where Rich and Sasha work.

  Rich’s door is open and I can see his empty desk, but Sasha’s sitting at her computer, clicking away loudly at her keyboard.

  “Oh, you’re here!” I say happily.

  She barely glances up. “Yes,” she says, blowing on her bangs.

  “I tried calling but you must have been away from your desk.”

  “I must have.” She’s still clicking and I gnaw on the inside of my cheek to avoid saying something bitchy.

  “Is Rich around?”

  She finally looks up, blinking at me a few times. “Sorry, no. He’s out.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “No.” No further explanation, just a slow blink. I roll my eyes.

  “Could you just ask him to call me when he gets in?”

  She blinks at me a couple more times, which I take to mean yes. Sometimes I honestly think about just firing this woman, but technically she’s Rich’s assistant, and I suppose if he’s happy with her then I should let it lay. But God, I’d love to just tell her to pack her shit and get out of this office.

  Of course, she’d probably just blink at me.

  I chuckle to myself as I walk back to my office, and then spend the rest of the afternoon, reviewing our ad buys for the coming month.

  By the
end of the day, though, I still haven’t heard from Rich. I stroll back down towards his office to see if Sasha is still around. Rich’s door is still open, and this time I can see him sitting there, laughing on the phone with someone.

  “He’s back,” I say to Sasha.

  “Yes.” Blink, blink.

  “Did you tell him I wanted to speak to him?”

  Blink, blink.

  I’m just about to say something when I hear Rich hang up the phone.

  “Bree,” he calls out from in his office. “Something I can help you with?”

  I leave Sasha alone to blink at the wall and step into Rich’s office.

  “Hi Rich. I was just hoping we could talk about some of the reports from this week.”

  “Of course. You could have called, you know. You didn’t have to come all the way down here to the slums.”

  I fight back a scream. Instead I plaster a polite smile on my face.

  “Oh, I know. I just felt like stretching my legs.”

  He gestures to the chair across from his desk and I slide into it.

  “So what is it in particular you wanted to talk about?”

  “Just ... the HR Report?” God. What is it about Rich that always makes me feel so nervous and incompetent?

  “Yes?” He raises his eyebrows. “What about it?”

  “I didn’t get one this week.” Normally I get a report every week, on Fridays, which outlines any hirings, firings or other dismissals, proposals for new positions, and any other matters that the HR Manager feels need to be flagged for the executive team.

  “Must be an oversight,” Rich says. “I’ll call Bonnie for you.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I say, feeling silly now. “I can call her.” Bonnie Thompson is our HR manager, and she’s actually one of the few people here who’s always nice to me.

  But Rich waves his hand. “Bree, I won’t have you troubling yourself with that. I’ll call her and see she gets it to you in short order.”

  “Okay.” I rub my hands discreetly along my thighs, surprised to find that they’re sweating. I shouldn’t let Rich get to me like this. After all, he reports to me, not the other way around. But he always seems so competent, and it makes me feel stupid that I’m still just floundering around here. “Thanks Rich.”

  “Anything else?” He steeples his fingers together, a gesture that makes him look surprisingly like a cartoon villain.

  “Nope. Thanks again for your time.”

  “Always a pleasure, Bree.” He turns back to his computer, and it’s clear that our little meeting is over.

  I feel relief when I step into the brownstone and lock the door behind me. Days at Bailey Living always leave me feeling exhausted, even though I seem to barely do anything more than look at spreadsheets and try to wrap my head around this industry and our role in it.

  I look longingly at my sewing machine, gathering dust once again on Dad’s dining room table. The cream linen dress I’d started working on ages ago is so close to being finished, but for now it just hangs over the back of the chair, waiting for the time I’ll have to pick it up again. Lately it seems like the only time I get to do any sewing is when I’m at Luke’s on the weekends.

  Luke. Even his name makes me smile, and I give myself a brief moment to think about him and sigh happily.

  Then the frantic cleaning begins.

  After I’d met her at the bar the other day, Luke’s future sister-in-law Celia and I had kept in touch. I had pulled together a few wedding dress ideas for her, things I thought would fit her figure and names of designers who I knew did custom work for reasonable prices.

  I’d been happy to help, but part of me is secretly doing it because I thought that maybe Celia and I could be friends. I still don’t know anyone here — other than Luke and the people I worked with. I miss Margaux, and I miss having girlfriends to talk to. I have no idea if Celia and I have anything in common, but she had seemed sweet and down to earth, so I figure it’s at least worth a shot.

  I’m just stashing the last of the dishes in the dishwasher when the doorbell rings. I scurry downstairs to find Celia and a petite brown-haired girl.

  “Hi!” Celia says cheerfully. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought Hannah?”

  “Of course not! Come on in!” I lead them through the house.

  “Hannah is Trent’s wife,” Celia explains. “Luke’s other brother.”

  “Right! It’s so nice to meet you,” I say. “I haven’t met Trent yet. He’s the CEO, right?”

  Hannah nods. “Yeah. Just picture Luke, but with a bit of a stick up his butt.”

  Celia snorts. “Hannah!”

  “What?” Hannah laughs. “He’s my husband, and I love him, stick and all.”

  Celia shakes her head and I laugh too. “Well, to be honest, I’d say Luke has a bit of a stick up his butt at times too.”

  Hannah grins. “He does, actually. I mean, have you ever tried to set foot in his workshop? He turns into Scary Luke.”

  I smile to myself. I don’t mention the fact I’ve made myself rather at home in Luke’s workshop. No one knows we’ve been spending our weekends together, and I intend to keep it that way.

  Not that lying is exactly the best way to start off a potential new friendship, but it is what it is.

  “How about Jace?” I say instead. “Any stick there?”

  Celia laughs and shakes her head. “No stick there. He’s the most laid back guy on the planet and I’m ... well, let’s just say I’m not. I guess I’m the one with the stick in our relationship.”

  We keep chatting about the guys as I pour us glasses of white wine and we settle into the living room. Part of me wishes I could participate more — tell them the truth about me and Luke and the crazy barrage of feelings I’ve been experiencing lately. I make a mental note to call Margaux later — I’ve been avoiding calling her because talking to her only reminds me of how much I miss Bounce, but it would be good to hear her voice again.

  “Let me show you the stuff I’ve put together for your dress,” I say to Celia, to change the subject.

  I pull out my tablet and move to sit next to Celia on the sofa. I flip open a folder and we start going through a whole bunch of pictures of dresses. At each dress, she squeals louder and then passes the tablet for Hannah to see too.

  “I love them all,” she says. She bites her lip. “Except I don’t know if I’m any further ahead now — instead of loving nothing, I love everything.”

  “Ha, welcome to my life. It takes me about an hour just to get dressed every morning. Honestly, I think the best thing is to just take these ideas and start trying things on. You’ll get a better sense of what you like once you see it on you.”

  Celia’s nodding. “We’re definitely going to do that soon.” She bites her lip, and then looks at Hannah. Something passes between them, though I’m not quite sure what.

  Finally Celia looks back at me. “Would you … would you be interested in coming with us? We could make a day of it, maybe have dinner afterwards?”

  I look back and forth between them. I feel a little burst of happiness, but I try to tamp it down. “Sure — I’d be happy to come and consult.”

  Celia looks surprised. “Oh, not to consult. Just … to come with us. We want to get to know you better, and trust me, I know first hand how hard it is to make friends in this city.”

  I can’t keep the goofy grin off my face now. “Sure. I’d really like that. Thank you.”

  Celia seems to relax. “Great. It probably won’t be for another few weeks, but we’ll keep in touch. Maybe we can even do something before then.”

  “Sure.” I take a sip of wine to keep myself from smiling too over-enthusiastically, and then realize that my glass is empty. “Anyone for a refill?”

  Hannah and Celia both follow me over to the kitchen, where I refill our glasses from the bottle in the fridge. We’re just heading back towards the living room when Hannah stops in front of the dining room table.

  “Thi
s is beautiful,” she says, gesturing to the cream colored dress — or three-quarters-of-a-dress — draped over the back of the chair. “Celia, look at this. Wouldn’t it be perfect for your rehearsal dinner?”

  “Oh, that’s just something I’m working on for Bounce,” I say.

  “Can I …” Celia asks, setting her glass down carefully and gesturing towards the dress.

  “Of course. Just be careful of the pins.”

  Celia picks up the dress and holds it up against herself.

  “It’s beautiful,” Hannah breathes.

  “Is it for sale?” Celia asks hopefully.

  I bite my lip, then shake my head. “Sorry, no. It’s for a fundraiser. I have to ship it off to Paris in a couple of weeks, as soon as it’s finished.”

  “Oh.” I can see the disappointment in Celia’s face.

  “I … I could make you another one though. This one probably isn’t quite your size anyway.”

  “Really?” Celia’s green eyes light up, and she looks from me to Hannah and back down to the dress. “I mean, I’d pay you obviously.”

  I wave off her suggestion. “We can talk about that later. Let me get my measuring tape.”

  Celia giggles and the three of us joke around while I take her measurements, jotting them down in my phone so I don’t lose them.

  “Your first Chicago sale,” Hannah says. “Maybe some day you’ll have your own store here.”

  “We’ll be your biggest customers,” Celia adds.

  I shake my head, laughing. “I wish. I’m way too busy with Bailey Living.”

  “Oh, right,” Celia says, chewing her lip. “Don’t you miss fashion though?”

  “Like crazy,” I say honestly, looking longingly at my sewing machine. My weekend bursts of productivity at Luke’s aren’t enough to satisfy my urge to create.

  “So Bailey Living … is that a temporary thing, then?” Hannah asks. She’s still looking dreamily at the cream dress.

  I shrug. “I don’t think so.”

  The girls glance at each other.

  “It was my dad’s company,” I supply. “And he left it to me. I’d feel way too guilty to entrust it to anyone else. So I guess this is my life now.” I try to laugh, like it’s not a big deal, but neither of them join in.